Chapter 6
CHRIS
Istepped into the too-dark and too-damn cramped for a star of my caliber dressing room, trying to keep a straight face. But my usual swagger—that casual, effortless one I’d perfected over the years—had taken the day off.
Screaming wasn’t an option, but maybe punching a wall? Tempting, sure, but no.
Maybe I should take a jab at myself for letting Chloe, of all people, go back after Jules. She was a good assistant but not the strongest-willed person, and something told me getting Jules to come wouldn’t be the easiest of tasks.
My manager, Vanessa, was already settled on the couch, looking as sharp and unimpressed as ever. Her eyes snapped to me the second I walked in, scanning me like a heat-seeking missile. Of course, she’d notice something was off. She always did.
She was in her fifties now, her face lined with stories of decades in the business and God-knows-what else. Those lines made her seem tougher than she probably was. Not that I’d ever tell her that.
“How was the autograph signing?”
“Normal,” I said with a shrug. “Weird requests, as always.”
She smirked. I knew she was about to say something she thought was amusing.
“Let me guess. Someone wanted you to sign their boobs?”
I sighed and ran a hand over the back of my neck. It happened too many times. I used to be amused by it, I mean, boobs, great. But now it was mostly annoying. Depressing even.
“It’s weird how people assume they have a right to my time and space. Like boundaries don’t apply to me.”
My eyes caught my reflection in the mirror. Tired didn’t even begin to cover. I shouldn’t be surprised. I was drinking until three in the morning, and as hard as it was for me to face, I had to admit my body couldn’t handle the party actor act anymore. I was forty-three, for God’s sake.
Honestly, it was more about numbing myself for what I knew I would have to handle today—boob signing, for example—than having fun, partying with friends.
Of course, I wasn’t about to complain. It was made painfully clear early on in my career that, given my looks, I was expected to indulge, give the people what they wanted, and build an audience.
A photo, a wink, a hug. Smiling on cue and acting like Prince Charming with a sprinkle of dangerous edge.
In my personal life, I got the dangerous part down, but the Prince Charming?
Not so much, as my many exes could attest.
Vanessa’s expression softened a touch, enough to tell me she wasn’t buying the act.
“Is that what’s got you acting so strange?”
“I’m not acting strange,” I replied before busying myself playing with a random bottle on the counter. Anything to avoid her stare.
“What is it?” She pressed. After almost two decades of working together, she could read me like a book.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re being weird.”
I let out a sigh. She was not going to drop this. “I just… met someone.”
Her face immediately shifted, landing somewhere between unimpressed and flat-out annoyed.
“Oh, of course. A woman. How disappointing.” She didn’t even bother to look up as she picked up her phone.
She was officially not interested, and I couldn’t blame her.
I’d paraded a stream of different women around almost daily, none of them sticking around long enough for me to develop any real interest, let alone my manager.
“Don’t be a bitch,” I muttered. She didn’t even flinch, still glued to her phone.
“We’ve got a meeting across town. We have to leave in ten minutes. Max.” She replied, still not bothering to look up.
“I know,” I snapped back, extra rude. A new level, even for me.
My reflection caught my eye again, and this time, I couldn’t look away. I looked as anxious as I felt. This restlessness wasn’t like me, not in the slightest. Usually, I had it all under control, but now? I was staring into my own eyes, trying to recognize the guy looking back.
Why was I acting so… wound up?
Beneath the discomfort, though, a flicker of something else.
Excitement. Because in a few minutes, she’d walk through that door, and I’d know I hadn’t imagined her.
I straightened my shoulders, and my hand went straight to my stomach.
That was where my anxiety always hit first, like a knife twisting on my ribs.
Any second now.
Crap. What was I even going to say?
Nah. I was fine. Talking to women was practically in my DNA. But that little pain in my gut wasn’t buying it. Probably because deep down, I already knew this wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced before.
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts, followed by Chloe’s muffled voice.
“Mr. Jones? It’s Chloe.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.
“Mr. Jones. It’s Chloe,” she mimicked, mocking Chloe’s tone.
“That girl is beyond annoying.” It wasn’t a secret that Vanessa didn’t like Chloe, but to be fair, she didn’t like anyone.
I was probably the closest she had to a person she cared about, even if it was mostly obligation and not necessarily affection.
She’d been with me from the start, and somewhere along the way, I became her full-time project.
I ignored her grumbling and said, “Come on in!”
The door swung open, Chloe stepped in, and Jules followed, looking like she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up here.
She was fidgeting with strands of her coppery hair that had escaped the barely-holding braid falling over her left shoulder.
Her long fringe had slipped from the hairdo and fallen across her face, partially covering her eyes.
The smoky black makeup made them look a beautiful shade of caramel.
She had the most lovely eyes and an adorable scatter of freckles across her cheeks.
Despite the bold eyeshadow, there wasn’t any trace of foundation covering them up. No attempt to hide or blur them out.
Vanessa got up and gave her a dismissive glance, her eyes skimming over Jules. I could practically hear the assessment ticking in her head, where I thought it would remain, but then she opened her mouth.
“A ginger? Really?”
She had her well-defined opinions about “my type,” and Jules didn’t quite fit the mold.
“Thank you, Vanessa. You may go now.” I gave her an intense look, hoping it would stop her from making more unwanted comments. She turned on her heel and strutted out.
“Ten minutes, Mr. Jones!” She called over her shoulder, disappearing into the hallway.
My eyes went back to Jules, and the room seemed to shrink. I wanted to say something, but my mind was racing too fast to form a single coherent thought. She didn’t look away, and I didn’t either. Her eyes felt like they were racing straight into me, leaving me completely exposed.
Finally, Chloe’s voice broke the spell.
“Do you need anything else, Mr. Jones?”
I blinked, and it took me a second to realize she was talking to me.
“No. That’s all. Go away,” I said a little too sharply, making Chloe flinch.
Damn it. That wasn’t a good first impression. She slipped out and closed the door quietly behind her. The faint click of the latch silenced the room.
Jules looked uncomfortable and clearly not pleased with the way I’d talked to my assistant.
Her hand shoved deep into her back pockets, and her eyes danced around, scanning the room.
Then, finally, her gaze returned to mine.
Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but nothing came out.
It was enough for my eyes to flicker to her mouth before snapping back up.
Smooth, Chris. Real smooth.
She took a deep breath.
“Hi…”
“Hi,” I replied as softly, taking a step closer without realizing it.
Usually, I knew exactly what to say around women.
I’d been the favorite of moms, first crush for half the girls in school, prom king, and hottest model at the agency.
Smooth lines, ready to go like I had them scripted.
But now? No charm, no quips, just… nothing.
The silence took way longer than it should because all I could do was keep looking into her eyes.
Did I look like an idiot standing there? Probably.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones.” Her words tumbled out like they were trying to escape her mouth faster than she could manage. “I didn’t know it was your team back there. I thought—”
Ah, she broke the silence. Thank God. I was relieved she’d said something instead of walking out the door and telling everyone who’d listened that Chris Jones was a complete weirdo.
“Call me Chris,” I interrupted.
She nodded, and when she said my name, “Chris,” it felt… weirdly comforting. I tried not to react, but damn, it sounded good coming from her mouth. It was something about the way her lips moved when she said it… Yeah, I was a total lunatic.
“Jules,” I said back, her name settling on my tongue like it belonged there. Like it always had.
How could someone feel comfortable and terrified at the same time?
My heartbeat was slowing down with a sense of ease and safety, while my anxiety was carving a hole through my stomach, warning me that one wrong word could ruin everything.
I focused on the first because there was no way I was letting the delicious feeling go away.
I’d never felt anything like it before, and now I wanted (needed!) more.
I was an instant addict. My addiction? The stranger who stood in front of me.
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I stepped closer. She mirrored my movement, barely noticeable, but enough to feel an invisible thread pulling us together. My mind scrambled to make sense of it, but my body? It wasn’t waiting for permission to act. It knew.
“How do you know my name?” Her voice wavered as she asked.
“I’m not sure.” I wasn’t lying.
“We don’t know each other.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me.